


Broken Walls

by APendingThought



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Langst, Poison, Protective Lance (Voltron), Whump, hurt!keith, injured!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APendingThought/pseuds/APendingThought
Summary: Lance and Keith find themselves outnumbered on a mission. Captured and waiting in a Galra prison for transport with Keith gravely injured, it will take a miracle to save them.That miracle's name is not Lance.Big thank you to sneeze queen on tumblr for beta-ing this!





	Broken Walls

“HRRRPH!!”

The expletive gets cut short at the hard yank of the metallic collar around his neck, jerking away his oxygen and leaving him teary-eyed. Lance grits his teeth as he takes back his footing. If he’s going to be a prisoner, he’s going to be pushy about it.

“EYES FRONT!” The violet-skinned commander barks above his head, flecks of greenish saliva raining down on his hair. Lance cringes and if his eyes could drop words then and there his Ma would slap him silly for the things they'd say.

He can’t stop himself from looking back.

His wrists are bound too tightly behind his back, arms wrenched in a permanently aching position. Not that these Galra upstarts give a quiznak for his comfort. All he’d been permitted on this trek through the Mothership was an order to move and move faster. Breathing was apparently optional.

They never said anything about cussing.

“Berenjena Pendejo…” _Stupid space eggplant._ Lance growls. He steals a glance over his shoulder--despite orders and his own safety--at the Red Paladin, moving silently behind him.

It’s not that Keith is a compliant captive, never has been. 

He’d been hit.

The ground battle was intense, sonar explosions and laser blasts lighting up the ship like the 4th of July. Lance had darted after Keith the moment (and that moment always came) he'd decided on his own to break away and pursue the squad commander solo. Lance knows his friend well enough to know when to get in the way of his kamikaze decisions.

Bayard slashing infantry bots left and right, the fight had been going in their favor. If he’s going to be thrown headfirst into a fray, he’s glad Keith is on his side. The dude fights like a video game. All Lance could really accomplish was cover fire, taking out any uglies on Keith’s blind side. When reinforcements arrived in the form of giant lizard creatures yoked like horses, the Team was forced to retreat back to the Lions. The objective hadn’t been worth the risk.

Lance wasn’t leaving without his partner and since his partner had been so eager to get himself captured, that made two of them. Swiftly overpowered, Lance bit down on several vulgar phrases when he was wrestled to the cold hard floor and disarmed.

Their bayards had been seized, their helmets stripped to prevent communication. Lance had taken a hit to the jaw, his cheek already swollen with dark bruising. Adrenaline wouldn’t let him feel the pain, even as he struggled beneath three Galran fighters, desperate to reach Keith. Keith fought them dirty, presented the guise of surrender only to lash violence without warning, taking out three of his captors with nothing but his bare hands and spry muscles. Lance found himself watching in awe as his friend—now leader—seemed intent on taking down the entire ship reserves on his own.

That’s when the command was given.

A blinding sonic blast filled the room with a white hot light, Lance gasped as the shock of a thousand released camera bulbs stung his eyes. The air itself vibrates, making him nauseous. He shields his sight with his forearm, screaming for Keith. An unsettling low-pitched thrum filled the room; aftermath of the onslaught and the cavalry circling Keith dispersed, recoiling from the blast. Lance blinked, desperate to regain his sight, find out what happened to his friend. From buzzing sensitive ears and a high C he could hear the sharp outline of orders shouted. Miraculously, Keith was still standing though he swayed, one hand pressed to his chest as though he could not breathe. 

“Keith!” Lance screamed, earning a sharp prod with the butt of a taser. He barely felt it, his eyes trained solely on his leader; his friend who now (barely) stood at the epicenter to all this chaos.

Keith’s shoulders were heaving, the rage on his face deteriorating into grim defiance as his energy ebbed from him like drops of fast-flowing blood. Only there was no smoke, no gore, just a pivotal, final and unsettling transformation. Something in Keith’s hard slate eyes was dead.

Keith was down.

Lance wanted to scream the moment Keith tumbled to his knees, grunting as a swarm of soldiers rushed in on him to subdue.

Trussed, beaten and on their way to ends unknown. Lance twisted his wrists in the cuffs once more, eager to be rid of them. He was worried about Keith. Keith hadn’t made a sound or uttered a word since their capture. The question was how they’d managed to take him down.  


No visible wound, no open bleed. But Keith’s energy was instantly at zero. From what little Lance had glimpsed of his condition, he was struggling to stay upright. He was shivering, shining with sweat, lumbering on mechanically as he was forced onward. Whatever the cause, he’d been compromised and that blast had something to do with it.

Lance did not like the sound of his breathing at all. Rasping, wheezing, and stuttering at times to the point of stopping. Loud enough for him to hear even through the entire din.

Hearing and not knowing was the worst.

Lance threw all caution to the wind, strained his neck to turn around and meet Keith’s eyes.

“We’ll be okay.” He gasped. “Hang on.” He hopes Keith can even hear him above the sturm and drang of the warship or the losing battle against the haze in his vision. Keith does not acknowledge him. His lips are set in a tight line, the blood completely drained from his face. When the only thing holding one upright is the crushing set of one’s jawbone, Lance felt it best not to offer any more distractions.

“Silence wretch or we’ll blast you as well!” The sharp command from the Galran leader makes him cringe but since he’s the only one who will even talk to him, Lance feels oddly bonded with the brute. He ignores his captor’s threats in favor of more questions.

“Where are we headed, huh?” He demands, shifting uncomfortably in his bonds. “You just gonna parade us around like trophies?”

“You are property of his Highness, Prince Lotor. He will determine which of you is destined for the Arena.”

Well, that answered that.

The arduous trek comes to a halt before the gaping entrance of a vast hall within the warship. The chamber is filled with murmuring-- stewards, generals, dignitaries and, Lance notes with some bitterness, chained slaves. At the center of the court, raised on a high dais, sits the Prince of the Galra.

Tall and regal on his black throne, Prince Lotor’s eyes flicker with interest at the entrance of his sentries.

“Make way! Make way for the Prince’s Tribute!”

A long fingered hand lifts, beckoning the steward and his entourage closer.

Smoldering yellow eyes, pale purple skin stretched across a delicate facial structure. Faint cruelty lingers at the corners of his lips. On his brow, a circlet of gold marks his rank. There is elegance in his bearing, a distant air in the way he holds his torso erect, his head high. His gaze seems to know what lies on the other side of things. He is garbed in what looks like ceremonial armor, a black cloak sits heavy on his shoulders.

The Commanding General bows before his Master, a closed fist pressed against his wide armored chest.

“I return in triumph to you, Lord of Lords. I have waged successful war against the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron! They are now yours to command! Vrepit Sa!”

The painful jab of a spear end forces Lance to his knees. He thinks he prefers the jabs to the pathetic show of groveling.

“Kneel before Prince Lotor, scum!”

The prince rises in one smooth motion. Lance struggles to gaze upward from his forced kneeling position to wonder at the entity before him. The Prince towers from above, each footstep echoing in the silence of the great hall. He takes his time, moving languidly down the dais to pause before his captives.

He cannot possibly manage to look more unimpressed.

“Only two?” He drawls. “I would have preferred the little girl. The green paladin holds the brunt of their collective might.”

Lance wants to vocally agree with the bastard but his words, again, are cut short.

A taloned hand grasps his chin, nails scoring into his flesh as his head is wrenched up. Lance snarls, hot rage building inside his chest as he is appraised, the clawed hand turning his head left to right, examining the shade of his eyes, his bone structure. His mouth is forced open to his humiliation; his teeth counted and commented on. Lance wonders briefly what could happen if he were to snap his jaws shut and bite.

He doesn’t get a chance to find out before he is tossed carelessly aside and the Prince’s interest shifts to Keith.

Keith is on his knees trembling badly, battling unconsciousness. His gaze is listless, shaggy black hair damp and falling across his face. Lotor’s brows knit together.

“What has happened?” Yellow eyes narrow at the Commander.

“We had no choice but to utilize the Moltan laser to dispatch the Red Paladin, Mighty One. He fought with the strength of a hundred Cyrobots!”

The General knows he has overstepped his bounds.

A menacing finger extending towards Keith. “That one is expiring. I can hear his heart growing weaker.”

“A thousand apologies, Highness…” Groveling from the brute that had handed his ass to him is satisfying to Lance but the Prince cuts him off.

“Out of my sight.” He lowers himself before Keith, staring with what looks like wonder. Keith never raises his head. Lance feels dread turn to ice in his belly. Keith sounds as though he is fighting for each breath, lungs wheezing. Somehow, he understands that he is not walking away from this.

“Do you know, Paladin, that you are about to die?” The Galran Prince asks, as though he’s asked this question of others too many times. “That laser is a toxin, designed to dismantle all traces of an organism’s quintessence. At this moment, it is eating away your vital organs, dissolving your blood cells one by one.”

 _Hence the trouble breathing...._ Lance’s brain fizzes in panic. 

Keith only dips his head, seemingly in acceptance of his fate. Lance blanches at this. Silence from Keith speaks loud.

“I have heard of your reputation in battle, Red Paladin. It is said you are unquenchable.” Lotor sighs. “Pity. I had hoped to challenge you myself but as you are so eager to meet death, perhaps it is for the best.”

Lance snarls bitterly, shoving his bound body as close as possible to Keith. “Just like Galra scum to mock a downed warrior! What proof of valor is that? Sounds like something his Daddy would do!”

Lance is surprised when Lotor, rather than anger, seems amused by his outburst. He regards the Blue Paladin with renewed interest.

“Do you think boldness will save him, Earthling?”

“Keith is going to end you!” Lance vows, ignoring the way his leader shudders beside him. "You are going down in a bad way!"

The Prince’s shoulders shake slightly as though he finds this funny. Lance does not cower but squares up, supporting Keith's weight against his body. Keith is so weak, the guards hadn't even bothered binding his wrists. His skin is cold and clammy.

“What is to be done with you, Paladin of Voltron?” Lotor tilts his head. “Shall I dispatch you now rather than let the beam run its course? Which is the more honorable end?” Shall I give you a weapon?

Keith only shivers in response, a terrifying faraway look settling in his features. It makes Lance want to violently knock it out of him. Keith's shaking words barely register above a whisper but they are heard clear as day in the silent hall. “It’s…in...your…hands.”

Lotor’s mouth twitches. He is clearly waiting for Keith to come back to himself, to wrench away the thing that keeps his shoulders hunched and his breath shallow. But the laser has claimed the last of whatever Keith had left to fight with. All Lotor has left to challenge is the will forcing his living heart to beat.

“You relinquish your fate then? Is that entirely wise, leader of Voltron? The blood of the Galra pumps in your veins and we die only in battle!”

“Then…I’m right…where....you want me.” Keith gasps, sagging heavily against Lance. His face is shockingly white, clenched fists trembling on his knees, blinking rapidly to ward off unconsciousness. This close, Lance can feel his friend's heart thud through his shoulder, can see sweat glisten on his brow, drip down his face. 

Lotor lowers himself to Keith's level, eyes flashing. “You could die a warrior’s death, boy. One suited to your heritage.”

Keith's eyes flutter closed, chest heaving.

“If….you had.... honor…you’d…” Keith’s whisper dies in his throat, too weak to continue. His eyes close and he deflates against Lance's shoulder, body listing to the side.

“He’s a Galra, what do you expect?” Lance spits, earning himself a swift kick to the ribs from the guard which he has enough brass to ignore. “Fruit don’t fall too far from the scumbag.”

Lance expects a fight, a rumble, he is practically begging Lotor to pull one fist back and target his face but the reprimanding blow never arrives. Instead, he is dismissed, his fire vanquished by the Prince's stony silence.

Without another word, Lotor rises. Lance holds his breath as he watches their captor ascend the dais in a swirl of black cloak.

“Take them Below. The mouth will make an admirable bargaining chip for the Pits. Let the arena tame his impertinence. Since the Red Paladin is to be of no sport, we will dissect him when ready. The Druids never tire of fresh subjects.”

Lance has no time to struggle before he is lifted roughly and thrown over the hard shoulder of a guard. He can see Keith being led away though when he stumbles, the guards opt simply to drag him like an object, as though he is dead already. This stops the fight in Lance cold, terror for his friend overtaking him. No one treats a Paladin of Voltron—his friend—that way.

 _Wake up!_ He screams silently to Keith. _Please wake up! Keith!_

Keith’s eyes stay closed.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you.” Lance whispers over and over through clenched teeth, his solitary prayer. He repeats it through the dark turns and dips of their journey down into the holding pens, through the opening of a cell door and his ungentle release. His cuffs are roughly yanked off and his feet are unbound. When finally the gate slams shut and they are, at last, alone, he speaks it aloud in the silence of their fate. 

“I’ll protect you.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
At first Lance just breathes for himself, trying to regain his center.

Then he moves on to assess Keith.

The cell is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single thrumming orb affixed to the ceiling. Lance is grateful to be able to move his arms freely again though his muscles are sore and protesting each movement.

His friend lies crumpled where he was thrown, unconscious but breathing. Lance immediately goes into triage mode, searching for the pulse at his throat. He is shocked to find it rapid, kicking forcefully beneath his palm as though staving off death with a fierce will.

Lance isn't exactly sure how this toxin laser works but as long as Keith's body still has its natural defenses, he can rest partially assured that Keith isn't about to shrivel up and die right away. 

That is some small comfort to chew on while they rot in this Galra prison. Like all poisons, they take their time. Lance’s mind races. Time. Would it help if he forced Keith to vomit? Would that help or just fuck things up even more? He has no idea what to expect. Will Keith blue up and stop breathing? Will resuscitation even work? Lance pushes these worries from his mind, choosing only to focus on the fact that Keith is still alive. He gathers his limp body into his lap, murmuring.

“If I were in your place, we’d be out by now.” He murmurs, cracking a half-hearted smile. Even if he were wounded, Keith would be fighting. Keith's body itself was a weapon, his blade an extension of his innate ability to shift a battle to his own terms.

Keith's body flinches sharply at a sudden jolt of pain from within. His breath stutters and starts.

“I’m here buddy. I’m here.” Lance whispers, hoping he can be heard.

How little that means. The smile drains from his face as quickly as it appeared.

Keith is in agony, pale face drawn and tight. At the sound of Lance’s voice, his eyelids flutter weakly but he does not open them. Lance fights to quell the fresh panic rising in his chest. He needs to get help, needs to get them out, but he has no idea how and he needs to figure that out before he can help Keith.

He knows it won't work but he tries desperately reaching out for Blue. His mind reaches for her, searching for her presence, but she is not within range. Time is not on his side. He has no idea how long it will take for the laser to kill Keith, how long either of them has before he finds himself an involuntary gladiator and Keith on a slab.

Lance’s eyes squeeze shut in a moment of pure despair, breathing hard against the sob that threatens to escape his chest. If their places were switched, they would already be in their Lions now. Keith would have fought for them both and won. If he were anyone else but him, they’d be out of here. But no, Keith gets to share his miserable fate of dying in a Galra prison simply because he is a failure. He can’t even calm himself down.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers numbly into Keith’s hair. “So sorry.”

Keith stirs but does not wake, shifting in Lance’s arms against some unseen threat. Lance notices then that his skin feels unnaturally hot, feverish. Lance agonizes, pressing his cheek to Keith’s forehead. There’s nothing he can do. He has no weapon, no way to ease his friend’s suffering. Not even a drop of water.

Wait.

He fills his lungs and shouts into the darkness of the corridor. “Hey! Could we at least get some water? You’ll end up on a Druid hit list if he dies on your watch!”

His most powerful weapon has always been his mouth.

All he hears is his own breath. All he feels is Keith's warm weight. Timeless minutes pass before a small hatch miraculously opens and a cylindrical container rises up from the floor. Lance picks up the item and shakes it to find liquid sloshing in its interior. Cautiously he opens it and discovers clear water. He takes a long pull himself before returning to Keith. Keith isn’t conscious enough to drink anything without choking and he doesn’t want to risk getting any water in his lungs. Lance sighs and cradles Keith’s limp, too-warm body up against his chest.

He ungloves his hand and sprinkles a few drops of water into his palm. He brushes his damp fingertips across Keith’s dry forehead, his cheeks, cracked lips. It’s not much but it’s all the mercy the Galra intend to grant them. He’ll take it when it comes.

The sudden hiss of the automatic door jolts him from sleep, adrenaline pumping. Lance’s clings instinctively to Keith, watching with heart in his mouth as two tall shadows enter the confine. He blinks furiously in the darkness, trying to see what new foe he is up against.

 

“Stay away from him!” Lance growls a warning, tightening his hold on Keith. He doesn't care who he's speaking to or if their response will be to rip him to shreds, no Galra is ever hurting Keith again. 

All too suddenly, he is wrenched up and away by powerful forces. He can’t explain how his body is being moved but the one shadow seems to be in control of this. Though he tries to fight against it, he is quickly immobilized and Keith lies still on the floor.

“Ungh! Let me go!” He pushes desperately against the unrelenting grip. “Stay AWAY from him!”

The dark hood lowers and a shock of short-cropped deep blue hair reveals the slim shape of the Galran General, standing over Keith’s prone form in the dim light. Lance’s struggles renew in the invisible hold around him, desperate to reach his friend.

“You wanna watch him die, creep? Get your jollies off before he croaks?” 

“Silence him.” Is all the commander says and Lance suddenly finds his mouth forcibly shut. The gag tastes bitter and he fights it but he must concede he has been effectively silenced. He shakes his head violently from side to side, struggling to see what the general intends for Keith.

The woman’s muscles flex, easily lifting Keith’s body from the floor. She lowers her head, pressing a curved ear above his heart.

“Weak.” She mutters, setting him back down again.

Lance never takes his eyes off her. She stills for a moment as though weighing something, then her hand disappears into the folds of her cloak.

A small, thin vial its sharp tapered end glinting in the weak light. A swift, powerful jab and the barb disappears into the black under suit between the armored shields, somewhere under the hard plate of Keith’s breastbone. Keith jumps suddenly to life, convulsing in pain. He fights her but the woman’s hold does not waver. She restrains him until the vial is completely emptied, then withdraws it with a hard yank. Keith continues to writhe in her grasp, head tossing to the side, moaning. The woman ignores his struggles, rubbing his chest vigorously, encouraging the flow of whatever she’s introduced to his blood.

Lance’s eyes widen in terror. What has she done? Had she killed him? He squirms and kicks in the hold of his captor. Panicked sounds erupt from behind the gag, aimed at diverting her attention away from Keith. The ruse works.

“It is done, Narti.” The woman’s voice echoes coldly in the quiet of the cell. “Release him.”

Lance starts when the solid body holding him prone suddenly vanishes into thin air, leaving him spooked and trembling. His mouth is free as are his legs and he stumbles to Keith’s side instantly. The woman does nothing to prevent him.

He snarls, accusatory. “What did you do?” 

“Be quiet!” She hisses, lowering her voice. “You will get us all executed!”

Lance’s chest heaves with anxiety, struggling to check his rage. He glares up at her intensely, waiting for an explanation.

“I have cleansed his blood.” The woman rises from her place on the floor, masking her face once more in the folds of her cloak. She regards him warily. “He should recover the effects of the Molton laser if your stupidity doesn’t end you both.”

“Likely story.” Lance scoffs but he keeps his eyes trained on Keith’s chest. It is still moving, albeit shakily. “Do you Galra ever tell the truth?”

She smirks. 

“The only reason he is alive now is because he shares our bloodline. If he were merely human like you, he’d be dead already. THAT is the truth.”

Lance bristles, hands hovering frantically over the still body of his friend, checking his vital signs. Even if Keith hasn’t regained consciousness, he swiftly concludes that whatever she’s done has made him no worse.

“We’re even now, Paladin.” The woman speaks and her words are meant for Keith. 

“Who are you?” Lance demands.

“You don’t have time. You’ll find your bayard and helmets inside the escape pod. The lions are in stasis at the border of the particle barrier. Hurry.”

“Hold it!” Lance snarls, struggling to lift Keith’s limp frame off the floor. Consciousness is slowly returning to his friend but he is weak and his limbs are heavy.

“There isn't TIME!” The woman hisses, already backing away towards the cell doors.

“Why did you save us? Aren’t you one of Lotor’s goons?”

“I am sworn to Prince Lotor, just as you’re bound to the surviving Alteans. I owe no debt to my enemies now.” She answers impatiently. “If I’m discovered, I’ll be sent to the Pits. It would be wise, Earthling, to call this meeting a happy accident.”

“You said you were even!” Lance exclaimed. “What did you mean?”

“He spared my life when he could have ended it.” She enters a code into the wall which releases several hatches within the compound. Loudly and simultaneously. Lance looks down the wide corridor, left and right in panic for the telltale footsteps of approaching sentries.

“He asked no questions then, unlike you!” The stranger growls, her brusqueness growing more agitated with each second of delay. “I can aid you no further. Go. Now.” The cloak is tugged upward, concealing her face. In a brief flash of motion she is gone.

 

Lance realized he had to take this chance- this Galra’s word. Shouldering Keith’s weight with a grunt, he makes a bolt for it.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Galra woman had not lied.

Inside Blue he finds his bayard and Keith’s waiting. She has rightly guessed that Keith would be still too weak to pilot his own craft. The Red Lion needs no assist from Blue. Lance can feel the tension rolling off her in waves, her mechanical tail flicking back and forth in anger as he settles Keith’s limp form securely onto the floor of his own Lion. 

“Easy girl, I have him.” He whispers, hoping Red receives his message through his bond with Blue. “He’s safe. Let’s haul out!”

With a defiant roar, Blue pounces from the landing. Red is a whir of hyperkinetic streaking crimson on her tail as they blast with full force back towards their lair.

“Put some gas under it, Blue!” His agitated mental link sends harried signals to his bond. “Keith’s hurt!”

She growls in response. She shares her Paladin’s burden.

Lance can barely hold back tears when his helmet communicator flickers to life with a crackle of static, Shiro’s worried voice on the receiver taking gradual form.

“Lance! We have…have you…on... radar! Ready…entry.”

The Blue Paladin eases off on the thrusters, collapsing back with relief into his pilot seat. They’re home. Finally home.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Dios te salve, Maria.  
Llena eres de gracia:  
El Seńor es contigo.  
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres”

At times like these, when his life is too much to bear and his chest is too full for words, Lance can only mouth his prayers like a good son.

He leans against Shiro’s solid frame, legs too shaky to hold him upright anymore. Shiro holds him firmly in a tight bear hug. Hunk’s excited shouts and Pidge’s screams of delight are lost beneath the thunder of Shiro’s pounding heart.

“We thought you were dead!” Shiro’s voice shakes. “We couldn’t locate you.”

“I’m okay.” Lance gasps, at last, regaining his English. His throat is cracked and dry. “We’re…okay.”

Allura and Coran have taken Keith to med bay directly, immediately determining his weakened condition. He lies sleeping in a Cyropod while Coran studies samples of his blood, piecing together the puzzle of what Lance had observed in the vial.

“They wanted me for the Pits.” Lance explains, draped in a blanket and seated on a gurney. Pidge swipes disinfectant on his abused torso, blotting away the blood from his cuts and icing his bruises. He hadn’t felt any pain at all until now, his focus had been solely focused on Keith. Now he aches and groans with every movement but he doesn’t complain. They are a reminder that he is still there.

“You say a Galra helped you escape?” Allura’s arms cross with distrust across her chest. 

“Can’t really explain it myself.” He shrugs. “She said she knew Keith. Dosed him up with that antidote.” He brushes tears back with a dirty hand, shuddering at the memory. “He was dying, Allura! That laser--“

“Ssssh.” Allura’s hands on his shoulders instantly quiet him. “There is no need to explain. I am familiar with the Moltan weapon. Since ancient times, the Galra have used them as biological warfare. Slowly slaughtering inhabitants of planets they wished to punish before they conquered. It kills indiscriminately, without honor, removing the fight from their opponent. It is a cruel method, nothing more. It suits their vile nature.”

Lance, for whatever reason turns at that word. Vile. Feeling the ache in his side and the sting of his injuries, he wants to agree but his throat won’t work. He swallows dryly. Averts his eyes.

Next to Lance, Hunk traces his fingers up and down the smooth glass casing that stands between Keith’s motionless cheek and the chamber. He hates seeing his friends behind that glass. Everyone here does. 

“But Keith is Galra too.” He murmurs softly, as if to himself. Maybe…there really are some good ones out there?” 

Lance pauses, looking to his friend, protected by the glass. He thinks about what Lotor said. He called Keith unquenchable. But then, Lance thought about the stranger who saved Keith's life, the Galra that Keith saved and even if they were saved to even a cosmic scale, undoubtedly that was the right thing to do. 

Right?

The blip of Keith’s heart beat is the only response they have.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Lance POV!
> 
> This fic originated back when I believed Lotor was in the belly of the Weblum. I thought of how cool it might be if the roles were switched and Keith found his life in Lotor's hands.


End file.
